


Punk Losers vs The Living Dead

by TransendentalHygiene



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), Return of the Living Dead (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Everybody Dies, F/M, Gay Panic, Homosexuality, ITneverhappened, M/M, Punk Losers Club, Return of The Living Dead - Freeform, Teenage Losers Club (IT), ZombieAU, Zombies, don’t be mad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22264312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransendentalHygiene/pseuds/TransendentalHygiene
Summary: “I like death,” Bev added, “sex and death.”“I love death and sex.” Richie said with a smile playing on his pale cheeks, “how bout you Eds? Ya like death and sex?”“Yeah, so why don’t you fuck off and die.”OrThe Losers Club never fights a giant evil mind spider so they turn into teenage punks who have to fight off the undead. Oh and of course❤️Reddie❤️
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	1. Typical Army Fuck Up

  
The town of Derry, Maine was small, backwards and a complete bore. Richie was sure of it as he and his gang of loser friends walked down Main Street trying to decide what trouble they were going to get into tonight. The sun was settling itself between the buildings on the outskirts of town making the sky emit a pinkish hue.

“So what’s the plan for tonight? Sneaking into that showing of Night of The Living Dead?”

There was a collective groan from his friends.

“Not wild enough.” Beverly, the only girl of the group but the toughest by far, explained. A long silver chain swayed off her studded belt lightly tapping her tattered black jeans.

“Got any better ideas, Miss Marsh?”

“Let’s party!”  
  
“Oh sure, because we’re definitely invited to parties.”

Eddie chimed in. He was gravitating towards Richie, like he always did. His small hands tucked into an oversized patched up denim jacket. Richie’s eyes flicked down to his best friend, causing his heart to jump into his throat. His teeth found a way to the ring lodged in between the side of his lip. A nervous habit.

“Ben could get us into a party. His football team is always inviting him.” Mike offered.

“Wh-where is B-Ben?” Bill inquired.  
  
“Bevvy? I think his lover would have the answer.”  
A blush slithered up Beverly’s neck at Richie’s remark.

“We’re not dating,Trashmouth. But-“

“But?”  
  
“I happen to know he’s at his new job. Orientation day.”  
She smiled, red curls bouncing in the early summer wind.  
  
“Aw, fuck Ben got a job? What is that? What a sellout.” Eddie’s brow furrowed.

“Fuckin lame.” Rich agreed, shoving the butt of his cigarette into his pocket.

“What time will he get off?”

“Round seven.”  
  
Another round of simultaneous groans.  
  
“That’s f-fuckin f-for-for-“

“Forever!” Richie bit, “Spit it out, Billiam.”  
  
This earned a heavy shove from Stan and a punch in the arm from Eddie.

“It’s two hours.”

“Well, fuck, what can we do for two whole hours?”  
  
At this point, the crew had walked past all of the main blocks in town. They’d made it all the way to the cemetery that lay just next to the old medical supply place.

  
“Well we’re right by where he works.”  
  
“What’s he doing?”  
  
“He’s working at Uneeda Medical Supply. Packing up and shipping cadavers and shit.”  
  
“Spooky.”  
  
“Well, shit, what are we gonna do?Hang out in the cemetery for two hours?”  
  
“Good idea, Rich!”  
Bev looped her arm around Richie, stealing his pack of cigarettes from his leather jacket. Mike pulled a bottle of booze from his trench coat. His ringed fingers gleaming in the last rays of daylight.  
  
“This should keep us occupied.”

“What? In the cemetery. With all the dead people?”

“Aw, scared Eds?”  
  
“Don’t call me that, dickhead. I just don’t want to be in the next Romero film.”

Richie had fallen back behind the group only to snarl with his arms held in front of him like a ghoul in the movie. He snuck up to Eddie grabbing his waist.

“They’re coming to get you Edward.”

He belted out with a ghostly wave to his voice. Eddie yelped and broke from his friends embrace.

“I like death,” Bev added, “sex and death.”

“I love death and sex.” Richie said with a smile playing on his pale cheeks, “how bout you Eds? Ya like death and sex?”

“Yeah, so why don’t you fuck off and die.”

....

Ben followed his uncle around the dimly lit halls of Uneeda Medical Supply. He’d already been shown how to pack away the skeletons, cadavers, and spliced animal bodies. He’d tried to pay attention as Uncle Burt excitedly explained where the forms were located and what form went where.

Burt led him to his office telling him they’d fill out the rest of the days paperwork and then be ready to clock out.

Ben was relieved. This place gave him the creeps once the sun set. The cemetery and funeral home next store wasn’t helping, although Bev would have loved it.

And that’s why he was trying to keep this dumb job his Aunt had begged Burt to get him. For Bev. He wanted to buy her an engagement ring so when they finished school they could start a life of their own. And he was ready to pack away cadavers for months in order to do it. Even if his friends would give him endless shit for taking a job. Just like they’d busted his balls for joining the football team until, that is, he was able to get them into parties.

And man, was he ready for a party. He collapsed into the chair across from Burt. A large oak desk stood between them in the small dull office. It was covered in papers, an ancient rotary phone and other such office supplies. He looked up at the clock, just above a nudey calendar, to see they had an hour before close. He couldn’t wait to call Bev and tell her about the rager Adam Stevens was throwing tonight. He stared down at his Doc Martins when the phone gave a few rings.  
  
“Yello,”Burt picked the phone with his nicotine stained fingers, “oh, hi sweetheart. Yes, I’ll be home in about a ‘our. Keep the pot roast warm. Uh huh. Love you too, honey. Kiss Kiss.” He smiled at the young teenager across from him.

“Your Aunt makes a fine pot roast, Benjamin.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a beat of silence as Burt pulled out a stack of papers. ILP10’s he explained.  
Ben could feel his lids growing heavy as his Uncle dove right into the boring work. He needed to stay awake.  
  
“Hey, Uncle Burt, can I ask ya something?”

Burt looked up with tired eyes of his own. He put down his pen, giving Ben his full attention.  
  
“Sure, kid.”  
  
“What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen around here.”  
  
Burt let out a chuckle, his eyes lighting up as his wrinkled face cracked a smile.

“Well, kid, I’ve seen weird things come and I have seen weird things go. But the craziest thing I ever saw had to trump em all.”

  
“Yeah, what was that?”  
  
“You ever seen that movie? Night of the Living Dead?”  
  
“Oh yeah. The one where corpses start eating people, right? My girl loves it.”  
  
“Yeah, well did you know it was based on a real case?”

Ben let out a laugh and shook his head. “No way! You’re shittin’ me right?”

“Never been more serious in my life.”  
  
Burt’s tone and the set of his jaw brought back Ben’s creepy feelings. Like someone was waiting for him, just behind his back.

“That’s not possible. Those zombies took over the world.”  
  
“Yeah, well, they had to change some stuff around. What really happened was in Pittsburgh back in 1969, a chemical was spilled in the VA hospital. That gunk leaked all the way down to the morgue. Made the corpses twitch and jump around like they was still alive.”  
  
Burt fidgeted around as to further drive home his point. Ben felt his mouth go dry as a twitch ran up his spine.  
  
“Wh-what chemical?”

“245-Trioxin.”  
  
The very official name sounded funny coming out of his Uncles mouth.  
  
“It was a spray meant for marijuana plants er somethin’. The Darrow Chemical company was tryin’ to develop it for the Army. And they told the guy who made the movie that if he told the true story they’d sue his ass off. So he just switched around the facts.”

“So, what really happened?”  
  
“They closed the whole hospital down. Contained and shipped out all the contaminated dirt and bodies. And they kept it secret.”  
  
“So how come you know about it?”

Burt laughed again, “Typical army fuck up,” he waved his arms around, “the orders got crossed. And those bodies ended up getting shipped here.”

He gestured to the floor below them, “wanna see em?”

Ben felt his hands go cold.

“The corpses.” Burt whispered.  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“The bodies, they’re down in the basement!”  
  
“No way!”  
  
“Come on.”  
  
Burt hurried down the hall with a quick pace. He was excited, like a child. Ben followed, slower. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see these bodies. The whole thing was surreal.

They came to a large metal door with a sign warning ‘Authorised Personnel Only’ in big red letters. Burt opened the door to reveal set of old wooden stairs leading down to a dark musty room.

“Mind your feet, third steps a bitch.”

“The Army never came back for the bodies?” Ben asked trying not to breathe too deeply. The smell of must and formaldehyde becoming stronger as they approached the ground. He pulled the collar of his Ramones shirt to his nose as a makeshift filter.  
  
“Well, you know the Army. Never did make it back to pick em up. They’ve been here for years.”  
  
They’d reached the ground floor and just around the corner stood a massive container. It was a dull green and read ‘property of the US Army’ on the side. The top was made of glass.  
Burt took the sleeve of his shirt to it, wiping away the heavy layer of dust. This revealed a sickly olive and muddy coloured face. Two yellowed eyes stared vacantly at nothing. It’s teeth were bared just below the triangular hole we’re it’s nose used to be. Ben took a step back, stomach dropping.  
  
“These things don’t,” he paused, finding it hard to swallow, “don’t leak, do they?”

“Hell no!” His Uncle boomed, “these things were manufactured by the US Army, kid!”  
  
To prove his point, Burt gave the container a good smack. Instantly the bolts on the top of the glass unhinged, releasing the thick sickly spray of 245-Trioxin.

Ben was able to call out an, “oh shit,” before he and Burt gave in to a fit of coughing. His eyes burned. His throat was on fire. He clawed at the sky for clean air then began to feel light headed. His vision narrowed and he lost all sense of consciousness as he crumbled to the floor.


	2. Nausea or Nerves, Eds?

  
Eddie did not like cemeteries. The last time he was here, in Derry’s Everygreen Cemetery, was when he was five. His Father was buried just up the hill, under one of the graveyards many willow trees. He’d guessed it was supposed to be poetic but with the amount of trees to gravestones it just seemed tacky.

He hiked his thin frame onto some poor schlubs slanted headstone with a sigh. The cool air around him grew smokey indicating his Trashmouthed friend wasn’t too far away.

“Eds, my dear, you’re missing the party. It’s a few headstones down.” 

Richie’s face was only a few inches behind Eddie’s now. His long thin fingers pulled at the black beanie on Eddie’s head, exposing a fluff of chestnut waves with a single stripe of red.He slung his lanky arms around Eddie’s shoulders, a cigarette dangling in front of his nose.

“I have asthma, douche face.”  


Eddie threw his friends arms away before crossing his own. Ignoring how adorable Richie looked in his hat, black curls glued to his sharp cheek bones, was a Herculean feat he was barely pulling off. 

“Shit, my bad Spaghetti. I’m a little tipsy.”

With his apology came a spare inhaler Richie carried in his jacket pocket at all times in case of situations such as these. Eddie smacked it away, jumping off his seat. 

“M’fine. Just be careful, fucker.”

Richie’s footing wavered in front of his friend as if he were one of those damned trees, ready to fall and crush Eddie.  
With a sigh the shorter man pushed his friend back onto the headstone. In the background her could hear his other friends laughter, shouting and The Misfits ‘Mommy Can I go out and Kill Tonight’ playing at an obnoxious level. 

“Guess, Mike brought booze and the boom box?”

“Yeah, that trench coat really comes in handy. He and Stan are flirt-arguing over it right now.”

At the mention of it, Eddie’s ears could pick up the conversation of the two.

_“That is too loud, Michael!”_

_“Stanley, have a drink and kindly remove the dildo from your ass.”_

_“It’s literally loud enough to wake the dead.”_

“ _You know you love it, dear.”_

Eddie couldn’t help but let out a reserved chuckle. More of a puff of air that hissed through his lips. 

“I think they’ve been around us too long.”

Richie’s smirk morphed into a full onsloppy smile at this. 

“So you admit you flirt with me, Spaghetti Man?”

Eddie could feel his entire body turn to fire as he registered what he’d implied. 

“No, shut up. I’m not gay, Trashmouth. And neither are you.”

Richie’s smile wavered. He’d wished he was drunker so he wouldn’t have to remember this tomorrow. 

“Says you.”  


He managed to mumble before jumping off the grave and heading back to the group. 

“Rich, wait!”

Eddie found himself calling as he followed.

...

Ben’s eyes sprung open as his chest forced a rough cough out his mouth. He brought a shaky hand to his head as he took a look at his surroundings. It took a moment for him to recall the events before his black out. 

Burt let out a loud groan as he regained consciousness. 

“Fuck, are you ok, kid?” He asked with a new rasp to his voice. 

Ben managed to get up, but it took all his strength to help his Uncle up too. They stood there for a second, finding it hard to breathe, before both leaning onto a nearby wall. 

Ben peered into the container to find whatever body had been there appeared to have dissolved into a can of goo. It reeked. 

“What an ungodly stank!”

“Where’s the body?” Burt inquired, eyes still closed.

“I think it melted. Dissolved once it hit the air.” 

“Well hurry up and close the lid, just in case.”

“The smell. I think I’m gonna be sick. It’s in my nose!”

That’s when they heard it. It was far away but unmistakable. The barking and whining of dogs carried from the main floor down to the basement. 

“Do we have dogs, Uncle Burt.”

The look on Burt’s face made the hair on Ben’s neck stand at attention. 

“Only dead ones.”

...

Richie, come one. Wait up.”

Eddie chased his friend through the crowd of Losers as they drunkenly danced around a standing monument of an Angel. She was on her knees, cement hands covering her face implying her sorrow. Richie grabbed the bottle of whiskey away from it’s company of beers, still walking briskly. 

Eddie could feel his lungs tighten, but understood it was probably due to the homophobic panic he was currently experiencing and not his possible(but if he was being honest probably bogus) asthma. Still the thought sparked a desperate, if not sinister, idea in his brain. 

“C-can’t breathe. R-rich!” He called, falling backwards. For good measure he called his friend again through fake gasps. 

It took milliseconds for Richie to double back. He rushed to his friends side, considerably more sober than he’d been a few minutes ago. The whiskey ditched a few steps away.

“Eds? Eds, it’s ok. I’m here.”

He cradled Eddie’s head in his lap, digging out the inhaler he carried. He brought it to Eddie’s lips and watched as his friend breathed in. The gasping stopped. His chest began to rise and fall at a reassuring level. 

“Oh, thank fuck, Eds.” 

Eddie hated to admit how nice it was to have his head in Richie’s lap. His fingers caressing his cheek. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“About what I said. I’m sorry if sounded mad or-“

“Disgusted. The word your looking for is disgusted.”

Eddie shot up at this. His hands finding their way to Richie’s shoulders. 

“No. No. No that. Not disgusted,” his heart was beating a mile a second as he noticed the way Richie leaned in to him. His bulky glasses traveled down the bridge of his freckled nose in a way that was undeniably cute. Eddie took a small breath. Was he really about to say it, “just scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

_Of admitting my very gay sexual feelings for you_

Eddie opened his mouth only to be cut off by a blood curdling scream. 


	3. Half a Diamond Dog

The two boys snapped their heads up in the direction of the Losers a few graves down. The source of the scream was Beverly. She had fallen off a small stone monument in the shape of a house when she was headbanging. It took only a moment or two for her wailing to cease, replaced with laughter and obscenities. She’d gotten back onto her feet as well, taking Bill by the hand to dance. 

Eddie let out an insincere laugh at the scene before them while he tried to nonchalantly pull away from Richie. He shook his head struggling to erase the last few minutes from his mind. 

“Poor Bill. Doesn’t he know she’s Bens?”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he rejoined the losers leaving Richie to question what he was so fucking scared of anyway. 

Richie wanted to stay there, sitting in the damp grass, and sulk for the rest of the night. His eyes wandered over to what could now loosely be considered a mosh pit. Everyone was loud and drunk and fuck even Eddie looked like he was having a good time. He was conservatively moving his head back and forth to Danzig’s  _Mother_ , propped up against the crying woman monument, and nursing a beer. You know, Eddie’s definition of a good time. This only twisted Richie’s guts into a bigger heated knot. He was pissed. What the fuck was Eddie getting at earlier? 

_**“Im not gay, Trashmouth. And neither are you**_ ”

Sure, Edward Kaspbrak wasn’t gay. The kid who wore pink short shorts to school up until the ninth grade, who held onto Richie a little too tight during scary movie marathons at Bill’s house, who knew every line to The Wizard of Oz, and who **NEVER** missed a live screening of Rocky Horror when it played downtown at The Closet-No, he was unquestionably straight..

And how the hell did he know that Richie wasn’t gay anyway? It was a bold assumption, especially considereding he fucking was.Had they known eachother since they were in grade school? Yes. Was Eddie his best friend on the fucking planet?Yes. Did that mean Eds automatically knew everything about him, specifically his sexual orintation? Hell no.

“Tozier? Come dance!” 

Bev called out. Her voice was light, a smile on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes as her brow furrowed with concern for her friend.

Against his better judgment, Richie joined his friends. He let Bev pull him into her orbit. Her hands rested behind his neck.

“Now you hold me, Trashmouth.”

Beverly was truly a bewitching specimen of a woman. Her eyes were a beautiful sea green, almost blue and when she flicked them anyone’s way they must’ve felt like they were the only person in the room. She had a small upturned nose and lips that were full. Nine times out of ten the two petals of a rose were turned upward in a devilish grin. She was mesmerising and Richie wished he could just be in love with her instead. He guessed he was too much of a masochist for that though. 

With a sigh Richie complied to her command, placing his hands on her waist. 

“You alright, Rich?”

Bev asked, eyes following his gaze to Eddie. She should’ve guessed. 

“Been better.”

“Why don’t you just tell him,” she rested her head on his shoulder, lips inches away from his ear so no one else would hear, “You know he feels the same. Look at the way he’s looking at us now.”

Richie snuck another look at Eddie who had taken a break from chatting with Stan to look over at the couple. His face was hard to read. Richie could’ve believed either disgust or jealousy. Two ends of the spectrum really. 

“I already tried earlier. It went... worse than I would’ve hoped.”

“What happened.”

“Well, he made a joke about how Stan and Mike flirting meant they’d been around us too long. So I called him out and said he knew we were flirting. And he totally shut down. Said he wasn’t gay and neither was I.”

“Bullshit.”

“Right? And then it got weird and I took off. He followed me but then he had an asthma attack-“

“Gay panic attack.”

“Asthma attack, and I helped him through it.”

“Surprise surprise.”

“Anyway,” Richie rolled his eyes hating how every interjection Bev had wasn’t  _wrong_ , “then he apologised. Said he wasn’t grossed out that I suggested I liked him but he was scared. I asked of what. But then you broke your ass and screamed. Ruined the moment. He took off again.”

“He’s totally scared to admit he’s gay, dude, duh.”

Richie shrugged, unlatching himself from Bev. 

“It’s been about an hour and a half. Should we go meet up with Ben.”

Beverly looked around at her dumbass friends. Most were noticeably intoxicated and even if the weren’t they were all in black, ripped up clothes. They looked like residents of Evergreen Cemetery instead of guests. 

“Uh,” her nose scrunched as the thought, “maybe I should just go. Wouldn’t want to freak out his boss er anything.”

“A fair assessment but still quite cruel, Ms Marsh.”

Beverly pursed her lips at her friend while stifling a laugh.

“I’ll be back in a sec.” 

She gave one last look to Eddie. He was still staring at her interaction with Richie. She made sure to hug her dark haired friend, lingering for a moment to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

Richie thought little of it until he saw Eddie marching up to him, lips pressed into a thin agitated line. 

“That was a very heterosexual of you, Richard.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You and Bev. She was all  over you.”

“Yeah, but like you said ‘she’s Bens’”

Eddie swatted Richie’s quotation marks away from his face. Further annoyed that his friends impression of him involved a very high pitched tone.

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, who are you lately? The Sexuality King? Heterosexual. Homosexual. Maybe I’m both,”

Richie could feel his blood flow faster as he spoke. He took a step towards his pissy little friend, “maybe I’m  neither.  Maybe I’m bisexual like David Fuckin Bowie. Why do you care?”

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed several times as he thought. He looked like a fish flailing to get back in the water. He was excited to see his goofy friend get so angry. It was new and exhilarating. But he felt a wave of guilt hit him as he remembered why he was so angry. Because Eddie was being a coward and a fool. Richie was so comfortable with himself. How? 

“You know what Eds, it’s cool. Just forget it yeah?”

....

Ben and Uncle Bert rushed up the ancient pine steps to the wailing of dogs above them. Ben had a disgustingly cold sickly feeling in his stomach. The smell of that trioxin chemical hadn’t left his nose and the idea that it had settled somewhere in his throat wouldn’t leave his brain. 

Burt was the first to find the dogs, if that’s what you could call them. He crouched near one, not realising until he was up close what was wrong with it. It writhed on the ground, still attached to its stick and platform.It was one of the spliced specimens, just what Ben had feared, but the side of each dog that still had tongues were panting. The side with eyes still blinking. Side with fuzzy tails still wagging. 

“Oh Jesus. Jesus no!” 

Burt screamed while Ben crashed into the nearby shelving. A wave of nausea hit him like a brick to the stomach. He doubled over, retching onto one of the half-dogs. It whimpered coaxing another scream from Burt. 

“What do we do?”

“Kill the damn things,kid!”

“They’re already fucking dead!”

A loud crash and howls of pure agony came from the other end of the warehouse. Ben looked to Burt and feared he might see his Uncle cry. After a beat, they both took off to were the screams were coming from. 

When they reach the door to cold storage a horrible realisation hits Ben. 

“The cadaver.”

The body on the other side of the door is beating on it so hard the metal is shaking in the doorway. He feared it might burst through the door at any moment. He looks down to see the latch is locked. So maybe not any moment. But the banging on top of the horrible screams was beginning to scramble his thoughts. He doesn’t even notice that he’s pulling at his hair until his Uncle puts a shaky hand on his shoulder. 

“We’ve got to go.”

Burt dragged Ben away from cold storage then, throwing him into their office. 

“Are we going crazy, Uncle Burt?”

Outside, Ben can hear the rumble of thunder and the light flicker with what he assumes was a lightening strike. As if this wasn’t creepy enough. His brain felt like it was two sizes too big for his skull and that damned smell wouldn’t go away.

“Nah, kid, we’re not crazy. I think it’s that damned chemical. Think it sprayed all over everything. Brought everything back to life.”

“Oh god, what’re we gonna do?”

Burt fell into his office chair. Sweat covered his forehead and formed large pools under his armpits and up his back. His colour had gone from a healthy pink to a deathly grey. He sighed, although it seemed to take more energy than usual. 

“We need to call the big boss. We fucked up.”

“Royally. We royally fucked up.”

“But Bossman Frank will know what to do.”


	4. A Screaming Good Time

  
Tonight, Richie decided, had turned into complete shit. His fingers found their way to his head while walking away from Eddie, grazing the stupid hat he still had on his head from earlier. He whipped it off in one smooth motion, tossing it at his friend before taking off after Bev.

“Hey, pretty lady!”

He called once he got close enough that she would hear him. Beverly turned around.  
  
“Rich, what’s up?”  
  
“I realised how irresponsible it was to let you walk in this creepy part of town by yourself at night. Thought I’d keep ya company.“

“But-“

“I know, I know, I’ll scare the boss. Don’t worry. I’ll wait outside.”

“How’re you and Eddie?”  
  
“Bad. And getting worse every time one of us opens our mouths.”

“You should rephrase that..” She teased.

Bev slung a leather clad arm over her friend as they walked. She could see the medical supply warehouse a few miles ahead of them. It was pitch black. No lights peering through the industrial windows. She thought it strange but knew for sure Ben said he’d be off by 7.  
  
...

Frank had arrived in ten minutes, but to Ben it felt more like ten years. That thing in cold storage didn’t stop howling the entire time. Not even to take a break for air. Probably one of the pros to being a member of the living dead, he reasoned. Though the rest of it seemed like a raw deal.

Frank was a tall man with dark slicked back hair and scruff covering his square jaw. His stature along with his strong voice made him the kind of guy you listened to. Burt had just finished explaining everything that had happened and Ben did not like the way Franks meaty fists were clenching.

“You did what? Why the hell would you open it?”  
  
The thing was still shrieking and banging on the walls. Out of desperation, Burt had closed the door to the office but unfortunately the thing’s voice permeated the small room. Frank had come in fresh, not having witnessed the half dogs or having to listen to the howling of the cadaver for more than a few minutes. He had to have some sort of rational solution.  
Surely.

“What do we do, Frank?” Burt asked, hands outstretched in utter failure. His skin was beginning to look like wax under the fluorescent lights.

  
“Do? Do? I’ll tell ya what we’re gonna do. We’re going to be sued by the Darrow Chemical Plant,” As he spoke Ben could see the reality of the situation clicking in his Boss’ mind, “and investigated by the government, and become very very famous. Probably loose all our business and go to prison. That’s what we’re gonna do, Burt!”

Frank began to pace while Burt seemed to be praying to some god. Ben’s head was totally fucked now. Maybe it was the stress of it all but he was fairly certain it was the trioxin. He could feel the pressure from his brain behind his eyelids. Pulsing and beating against his skull. Every time that thing shrieked Frank would flinch, instinctively, before returning to his march.

“Can’t we destroy it?”

Ben asked lamely. Still Frank jumped on the idea, snapping his fingers.  
  
“That’s it! If we don’t want those things to happen we need to destroy the evidence. And never speak of tonight, again.”

“But, how?”

“In the movies, they just have to stab it or shoot it in the head. Destroy the brain.”  
  
Ben answered almost on autopilot. That was the easiest question in the book. Richie and Bev made him watch the movies over and over. He knew everything there was to know about the undead.

“That’s right, son. Good thinking.”  
  
And Frank was off to the file cabinet on the other side of the room. He pulled out everything in the drawer looking for something that can crack a skull. His suede shoes are covered in old paperwork by the time he’s done through every drawer in the room but the only thing he could find that was remotely close to a weapon was a staple gun. He didn’t much like his odds with that.  
  
“The utility closet. There’s an axe in there for fires.”

They stood in front of the cold storage door watching as it quaked before them. Burt had the axe resting on his shoulder.

“Ok,” Frank began, “the plan is simple. Ben, when I count to three you open the door. Burt, when it comes out you brain it with the axe. Understand?”  
  
The two employees nodded. Even with the adrenaline he was sure was pumping through his veins, Ben found it hard to stay upright. Still he went to the door ignoring the sweat dripping off his brow.

“Ready?”

Burt shifted his weight from one foot to the other while hefting the axe. He gave a conservative nod.

“One.”

Ben felt his heart sink into his stomach.  
  
“Two.”

His sweaty hands gripped the thick steel nob.  
  
“Three!”

  
The door swung open. The cadaver came running out. Still screeching. It was hairless. Completely hairless. Not even eyelashes. And it’s skin had a grey rubbery look. It moved like lightening, from the doorway right into Franks arms in a blink of Ben’s eye.  
  
Burt was frozen, axe midway in the air. It knocked Frank onto the ground, teeth finding their way to Frank’s arm.  
  
“The fucker bit me!”  
  
Burt and Ben are quick to come to Frank’s rescue. They pry the thing off of him and with both their force manage to pin him to the cold concrete floor. It snapped and snarled desperately.

  
“Keep it still!”

Frank grabbed the axe then, placing it to the cadavers fidgeting head. With a slow breath he raised the tool and bringing it down hard on the things skull. A sickening crack rang through the air. But it wasn’t quite as sickening as the fact that the cadaver was still moving, still fucking screaming.

  
“Fuck.”  
  
“It’s still alive!”  
  
“What now?”

“Just hold it there.”  
  
Frank ran back to the office, but returned quickly with a bone saw.  
  
“Let’s try this number!”

He began to saw through the thing’s broad neck.  
Once he hit the vocal cords the screaming was replaced by gurgling and then finally silence. The body was still moving. Frank took this new development in stride, beginning to saw the creature into small manageable bits. Although, Ben was relieved that the cadaver could no longer shriek he was more than a little pissed the noise was replaced by Burt’s incessant Hail Mary prayers.

“What now?”


	5. Up In Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning there are some homophobic slurs used in this chapter

Richie had run off with Beverly, leaving Eddie to stew in his emotions and politely listen to the rest of his friends drunkenly discuss death. 

“Do you ever fantasise about being killed?”

Stan asked, propped up against one of the cemeteries many willow trees. He sat there in Mike’s coat, the black collar contrasting with his light spirally hair. His arm was propped up on his knee as he stared wistfully at the cigarette clasped between his fingers looking like he should be on the cover of an album by The Cure. 

“I try not to think about it.”Mike offered.

“N-no.” Bill said quickly and maybe if Stan wasn’t so drunk he would’ve remembered Georgie. Bill’s little brother and the victim of a hit and run. Eddie figured it was a violent enough end to make Bill reluctant to add his thoughts to the current conversation. 

“You never sit there thinking about all the violent and horrible ways to die?”

“I guess,” Mike acquiesced, “if I had to choose. Probably being eaten alive.”

“Yeah, by a bunch of old men. Their ancient fingers digging into you’re young flesh.” Stan said with a morbid excitement. 

If Richie had been there he probably would’ve made a weird sex joke. 

The bottle of whiskey made its way through the boys eventually finding its way to Eddie. He took it downing a few mouthfuls before he could really think about what he was putting into his body. While the rest of the Losers argued the different gruesome ways to bite it he couldn’t help but think about his fight with Richie. The ground had been pulled out from under his feet with a few simple words. 

_So you admit you flirt with me_

How could he even ask Eddie that question? Of course the answer was a resounding yes. But he always assumed it was sort of an unspoken thing. Talking about it out loud made him feel nervous and weird and  _exposed_. 

It was the same ice cold feeling he got in his fingertips in the ninth grade when he came home to his Mother clutching his magazine in her bovine hands. The magazine he kept under the bed. The one he’d snatched from the seedy magazine stand on the other side of town. The dirty magazine circa 1979 with two strong men on the cover. One splayed out on a black leather couch in the tiniest pink shorts ever designed, his muscles gleaming in the cheap studio lights. The other tan and firm with one hand pulling at the band of those little shorts. 

_Golden Years- Experiences for loving men from loving men_.

  
He’d all but retched all over the avocado green kitchen walls as he was forced to look Sonia Kaspbrak in the eye when she questioned him. Forced to listen to the terrible words that left her puckered mouth.

_At least your Father died before he could see you turn into such a disgusting faggot._

_Disgusting_

_Disgusting_

The words echoed in his mind. That Saturday was spent involuntarily in church. Sonia set up a special meeting with the pastor. Threats were made, both in this world and in the afterlife. Eddie spent the day staring at his recently bruised reflection in the church’s many windows as he cleaned them. 

_Idle hands are the devils workshop_

“How about you, Eddie? Worst way to die?”

“Burning to death.”

He spoke with little thought. Immediately feeling like Stan afterwards as he looked to Mike, who had lost his parents in a fire. Yet, thinking back to the wild look in Pastor Dayton’s eyes while he spewed graphic details of the crispy flesh and howling screams of the damned he knew it was true.

“Definitely burning.”

...

Ben regained his consciousness but wasn’t ready to open his eyes when he heard Frank and Burt speaking in hushed tones. For a millisecond, he was able to convince himself he was sleeping. This all had been some crazy fever dream. A believable lie with the weakness he felt and his sore brain. But with the addition of a third voice he knew this was not a dream. He knew it was time to open his eyes. 

“Yes sir, I believe you owe me big.”

“And this will destroy everything right? Nothing left over. No bones?”

“No, no bones. Everything’ll go. Hardest thing to burn is the heart, anyway.”

“The heart. Why’s that Ernie?”

“The hearts nothing but a big tough muscle. This things hot enough to burn it though. Won’t be nothing left but a bitty pile of ashes.”

“We don’t even want the ashes.” 

“Then I’ll turn it up higher, Frank. No ashes.”

Ben opened his eyes the events of the night slowly filing into his mind. The trioxin gas. The split dogs. Frank slicing up that noisy cadaver. It’s cut up little pieces still writhing on the floor. 

Frank had the bright idea to bag up the parts and head next door to the funeral home. The embalmer Ernie, a short older man in a velvet track suit, had a crematorium. He’d be able to help them. If cutting the thing up wouldn’t kill it fire should. 

The smell of burnt hair and barbecue filled the air causing Ben to jolt up from his resting spot on a metal gurney. He leaned over to force out the contents of his stomach. 

“Boys awake.”

Ben looked up through tired eyes at the men huddled around the oven. He felt sicker knowing the gurney he was on was usual home to the dead. 

“What happened?”

“The stress of the evening got to ya, son. As soon as we walked in and you saw Mr. Walker over there,” Frank gestured to a corpse on the other side of the room. A pile of his organs lay next to him on a steel tray, “you hit the floor.”

“It’s not stress, Frank. I feel really sick.”

“Aw, hell,” Burt adds, all but collapsing in Ernie’s office chair near Ben, “I feel real sick too.”

Outside the sky seemed to have opened up, rain coming down in sheets. The air crackled with the sharp sound of thunder. 

...  


Beverly and Richie stood outside the medical warehouse for few minutes sucking whatever nicotine was left out of their cigarettes. The rain that had come earlier in the evening had been gone a while but as she looked up at the dark sky Bev had a strange feeling it was going to come back. As if on cue the crematorium next door began to belt out a huge cloud of grey smoke. 

“What time is it? Shouldn’t Ben be here?” 

Richie glanced at his watch. 

_**7:27** _

“Fuck, it’s almost half passed.”

A groan escaped Bev’s lips while stomping out her cigarette. 

“Men.”

“Yeah, they’re complete shit.” 

There was a smile on Richie’s face as he adjusted his glasses but it felt hallow. He was about to add something else, probably about Eddie. It was always about Eddie. Before he could there was a rumble of thunder and buckets of rain started to fall from the sky.

“Oh Christ!” 

“That’s it. We’re going in.”

The couple rushed to the front of the building hurrying inside. They’d only been outside a minute in the torrential downpour but they were soaked. 

Beverly was suddenly freezing. Any exposed skin she had felt a cold stinging burn. 

“Fuck, my skin burns.”

Richie ran a hand through his curls before taking off his glasses to clean them. A moot point when he looked at the state of his very wet shirt. 

“Mine too. That rain is like acid.”


	6. Tell Eddie’s Mom I Love Her

The rain poured down on what was left of the Losers in the graveyard. 

“Ah hell, this rain is insane.”

“Came outta nowhere.” 

Mike agreed with Stan, offering him a hand to get off the grass. Eddie wished he hadn’t let his hat fall to the ground earlier, when Richie threw a fit, as he hiked his jacket above his head. He’d been so concerned with their fight it seemed shallow to worry about an article of clothing. Now, he thought, he was out a hat and maybe his best friend.

The rain came on ina flash and didn’t seem too keen on going anywhere. 

“We gotta get out of this rain.”

Despite his makeshift umbrella, Eddie’s hair was thoroughly soaked already and he could feel the liquid irritating the back of his neck, where it was starting to pool.

“Does anybody else’s skin feel itchy?”

“T-thought it was j-just my imagination.”

“Me too.” 

Snippets of tenth grade science class came to Eddie’s mind. Acid rain was caused by pollutants in the air and if they were strong enough could burn the skin. He could feel the anxiety flood his body at the thought. 

“Shit. Is this,” he held his breath, “Is this acid fucking rain?”

The boys groaned, their pace quickening. He’d really wished Richie was with him then. He’d make a joke to put him at ease. Like when they were stupid little kids screwing around in the barrens. Teasing Eddie for his fear of grey water. And insisting to Stan that  _not every fucking leaf was poison ivy._

“We need to get out of this fucking rain, now.”

“Where to? Don’t have a car.” Mike’s casual tone clashed with the sweat running down Eddie’s back. Or was that more acid rain? 

Fuck.

The group hurried down the hill to the parking lot of the medical supply warehouse. The sound of soggy boots on massive rivers of rain fell over the air. 

“Let’s go where Richie and Bev are. Bet they’re waiting for Ben in the warehouse.”

...

The sting of the rain had all but dissipated thanks to Richie’s quick thinking and flannel he’d worn under his jacket. Thank god for layers and thank god for Maine’s notoriously chilly summers. As a lanky kid trying to seem more filled out he wasn’t so sure he’d survive in a state like Texas. 

Bev’s hair fell limp on the back of her neck as she handed the flannel to her friend. He thanked her before tossing it on a nearby shelf. That’s when he noticed it. The room had dull lighting and in the panic of the moment he hadn’t really realised how fucked up everything was. 

The stock on the shelves were in total disarray. Full skeletons encased in wrinkled clear bags were knocked on the floor. Large containers of formaldehyde had made their home there as well, creating puddles he was sure to step away from. And there was an entire section of the floor covered in packing peanuts. The were spread around like little white bugs rustling in the wind. 

“What the fuck happened in here?”

Bev took a look herself.

“Jesus, was there a fight?”

The question that begged at his mind was, where the hell was Ben? He was just about to ask or even suggest the place had been robbed, not that he was sure what a robber would want with skeletons or packing peanuts, but before he could find the words a loud crash came from the other side of the building but lower. If Richie was a betting man he’d venture to say whatever was making the noise was behind the door warning non-authorised personnel to back off. 

He looked to his friend, an eerie feeling pulling at his brain. 

“What was that?” She whispered, eyes wide. 

“I don’t know, and I really don’t wanna fucking find out.”

Another crash and a moan wrapped around their ears. 

“What if it’s Ben? What if he’s hurt?”

Why the hell did she have to say that? And why the hell did he have to conjure up the thought of a burglar attacking Ben? Richie felt his brow pull together in agony.   
He was a good friend. He’d save Ben from a fucking burglar. 

“Ok, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. But you stay here,” He looked around the room swiftly, noticing a fire axe haphazardly left on the floor a few feet away, “If I’m not back in five minutes or you here me scream. Get out.”

“Richie, stop.”

The axe felt heavy in his hands. He made a mental note if he wasn’t about to be slain along with Ben in a robbery gone wrong, he really needed to work out. He gave Bev a smile he hoped was reassuring, but by the look on her face was even more concerning. 

“It’s fine, Beaverly. I’m kind of out of things to live for anyway. Might as well go out a hero.”

Bev let out a hesitant laugh, “You sure you want those to be your last words.”

He thought for a moment trying to ignore another moan calling him to the door. 

“If I don’t make it tell Sonia Kaspbrak I love her.”

...

Eddie felt nothing but relief when Mike easily pulled open the door and rushed the rest of the Losers inside. He fully expected it to be locked. For Richie and Bev and Ben to be at Derry’s 24 hour diner sipping on hot coffee, free of probable chemical burns, and talking shit about how homophobic their dear friend Eddie was. The word ‘ disgusting’  wrapped its slimy hands around his thoughts again. Richie thought Eddie was disgusted by him. The whole situation was almost enough to overpower the sting of rain on his skin. 

“Richie? Bev? Ben?”

Mike called out in his deep booming voice as they made their way past the small cubicles and into the main warehouse. 

“Mike? Mike is that you?”

Bev called, her voice getting louder as she ran to them.

She was as disheveled as they probably looked, Eddie thought. Her hair was a wild damp mess of curls. The leather jacket she always dawned was nowhere to be found, leaving her in a tight black tank top that read  Zero  in flashy silver letters. She was shaking from what Eddie could logically assume was the cold, but when he saw that she was alone he feared was due to something else.

“Where’s Richie?”

The words spilled out so fast Eddie wasn’t even sure that he’d said them until he was met by the pity in her eyes. 

“He’s in the basement. There was some noise down there and groans. We can’t find Ben and this place looks like it’s been ransacked. He went to investigate.”

Bev wrapped her arms around herself, teeth finding their way to her bottom lip. 

“I tried to go too, but he said no.”

“So you let him go down there alone?” The question came out as more of an accusation, but Eddie couldn’t find any reason to care. He could feel his chest tighten at the idea of Richie going into the unknown by himself. 

“ Richie’s a big boy, Eds. It’s not like there’s a killer down there.” 

Stan said in an effort to defend Bev. 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he snapped, “where’s the basement?”

....

The groaning had become silence as Richie made his way down the stairs. The hall was pitch black with a small lightbulb at the bottom being the end in sight. 

“Ben?” 

No answer. He took another step, specifically the third step which whined in protest. 

“Haystack? You down here?”

By the time he got to the bottom of the steps he was able to make out his surroundings. Nothing of any real importance but a large canister knocked on its side. As he stepped closer Richie noticed a strange dark fluid leaking onto the floor. It trailed to the back of the room and seemed to be lost behind some old boxes. The smell that invaded his nostrils was horrendous. Like if someone had been severely ill, shitting and vomiting everywhere before dying and being sealed down here for a year. His arm found its way to his nose in a feeble attempt to filter out the stench. 

“Ben?” 

He picked up the sound of shuffling feet and small moans more toward the aforementioned boxes. Right where the light couldn’t reach. Just as he was gathering the courage to move forward something moved into the light. 

It was slow and shambling and covered in slime. The slime was a deep green with hints of brown and gleamed in the light. Richie’s brain began to piece together that it resembled some form of human when two eyes bulged from its skull. 

“Brains.” 

It demanded wobbling closer to him. It’s voice was like vomit, words dropping to the ground in drippy clumps. 

“The fuck?”

Richie’s muscles became rigid, unsure that the creature in front of him was really there. The weapon he’d dragged all the way down with him clamoured as it fell to his side.

“Brains!” 

It groaned louder. One lumbering arm swiped at the tall boy.

He managed to jump back as it lunged forward, but his body collided with the stairs. 

With legs like jelly he forced himself up a few steps unable to tear his eyes away from the creature. It pursued him. With every step it repeated its demand. 

“Brains.”

“Brainss.”

“BRAINSSS!!”

“Richie? Richie are you ok?”

A beautifully familiar voice called to him. 

“Eds?”

His reply was weak. His mouth too dry and jaw too shaky to properly project. He climbed another step while clearing his throat.

”Eds, stay up there. Don’t,” bile threatened to rise out of his mouth. He swallowed before trying again, “Don’t come down here, ok?”

Richie scrambled up a few more steps as Eddie began to descend them. He took the first two steps quickly. 

“Richie, What’s go-“

A thundering snap cut him off as Eddie felt his body plunge to the concrete below. 

“Eddie!”


	7. Seventy Degrees of Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death!! Just a warning

Ernie looked down at the two individuals currently piled onto the sofa in his break room. Well, he called it a break room. Really it was the same room as the morgue, embalming station and anything else done behind the scenes for a funeral. But he did have a fridge, coffee pot and donated pleather sofa in the far right corner, just by his desk. And it wasn’t really false advertising seeing as he was his one and only employee. 

Burt and his nephew looked awful if Ernie was being honest. Burt, who he’d seen a few times around the parking lot his funeral home and the medical supply shared, seemed to be completely composed of wax and sweat. His breath was laboured. And Ernie was unsure but thought he heard the familiar rattle in the man’s chest that would preface his last breaths. 

The boy was in no better shape which Ernie found particularly upsetting probably because of his age. He was so young, couldn’t be more than nineteen. He was shaking like a leaf and for every breath he exhaled a low moan would follow. His limbs seemed almost to be contracted to his body, muscles tightening up like Mr. Walker on the gurney. 

_Rigor Mortis_?

Ernie shook away the thought. No, these two weren’t dead. They were conscious and talking. Moments ago they had been walking! They were just very sick and he knew he had to get to them some help. 

“Still feel sick?” 

He inquired, the body parts and split dogs were almost reduced to ashes. And yet, Burt and Ben seemed to only be getting sicker. A fact that brought Ernie to the conclusion that their condition was not just the excitement of the night. 

Burt nodded while Ben managed to grunt in the affirmative. 

Frank and Ernie came close to them, squatting to get on their level for a closer inspection. 

“Sick how?”

“Like I wanna puke,” Ben said, his voice hushed, “God, and I feel weak. Like my arms are made of lead.”

“And a terrible headache.” Burt agreed. 

“And I’m cold. Really cold. Like my bones are ice,” Ben shivered just thinking about how cold his skin was, “I think it was that stuff. The gas Burt and I breathed in, in the basement.”

“Stuff, what stuff?”

“The stuff in that canister. When it cracked open the gas shot right into our faces. We breathed it in and then passed out for, for I don’t know how long.”

Burt nodded his head unwilling to waste what little energy he had on a ‘yes’.

Ernie carefully placed the palm of his hand on Ben’s forehead. He expected the skin to be hot to the touch. But it wasn’t even warm. Ben’s forehead felt like the same temperature as the sofa or the wall. 

“Strange,” he muttered to himself before exchanging a concerned glance with Frank, “we better call an ambulance.”

...

“Eds! Eds, hold on. I’m coming!”

Richie’s feet had never pounded up a set of steps so quickly. He reached the third step, or rather the hole where the third step used to be. That thing was still coming after him. It was either too stubborn or too stupid to realise Eddie had fallen through the stairs and was essentially easy pickings. Richie shuddered at the idea. 

He squeezed through the gap in the steps at full tilt, dropping only a few inches to the concrete below. Eddie was huddled in the corner either unable or afraid to move. 

“Hey, Eddie.” Richie whispered, peering through the stairs to see the creature had made it two steps before the drop. Black goo was beginning to slide through the slats of wood reminding Richie to watch where he stepped. 

Eddie was alive. He was also conscious, but seemed to be frozen in time. His eyes darted around Richie’s face wildly. The only part of his body he was able to move. Before he could think better of it, Richie’s fingers were curled around the nape of Eddie’s neck, thumbs stroking flushed cheeks. 

Suddenly, Eddie sprung to life.

His brain could almost filter out the incessant demand for brains from that thing and ultimate terror which had wrapped his body in pins and needles now that Richie was close. He felt an iota of safety and it was enough. 

“How do we get out of this, Rich?”

“D-did you guys n-need h-he-help down there?”

The voice that called down was very clearly from Bill.  Richie was about to call out to him. Warn him to stay where he was or better yet go back. But the creature beat him to the punch.

”Brains!”   
  
It cried out as it grabbed hold of Bill. He let out a shocked yelp while he tried to turn loose from its strong grip.

  
“No!”   
  
Richie screamed, pulling himself from Eddie. He tore out from under the staircase just in time to see the creature unhinge his jaw.   
There was a deafening crack as it’s teeth sunk into Bill’s skull. It cracked easily, like an egg, blood and bone fragments falling to the floor. He let out a scream dripping with agony. It was loud but short. The last sound to come from his mouth that now hung open, eyes glazed over in death.   
Richie heard Eddie call Bills name. Probably before he could turn the corner and see the disaster before them. He could also hear someone screaming. It took a moment to realise it was him. The horrible primal cries we’re coming from his own lips. 

....

Ben wasn’t really in a morgue possibly dying from a mysterious reaction to military poison. He couldn’t be. At least that’s what he told himself as he slowly lost the ability to move his arms and legs. A fact that was brought to his attention by the two paramedics in matching rain slickers and button up shirts. The medic who was checking on him had asked if he could touch his nose. The answer was not without insurmountable pain. 

“What did you guys take?”

Neither answered which was fine with Frank. He didn’t want these medics to know any more than they had to. 

“They were exposed to some sort of military chemical.”

“What chemical? Where?”

Burt’s paramedic inquired as he took off the stethoscope from around his neck. 

“Not too sure about that one.”

“Well can you find out,” the man scoffs in what can only be assumed is disbelief, “your friends lives are on the line.”

“Well, I can try to make some calls. But not before morning.” 

Frank suggested and through a fogged mind Ben is still sure he’s just telling the medic what he wants to hear. 

“Let’s take some viral signs, Jeff.”

“Right-o.”

They started with blood pressure. It took everything in Ben not to scream as they unfolded his arm. 

The cuff around his bicep was unpleasant and only became more so as the medic tightened it. It grew tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter. Then released while the medic looked up at him with a puzzled expression. The room was silent apart from the almost synchronised hissing of both cuffs as they loosened. 

“Can I borrow your stethoscope, Jeff?”

The second medic, who’d been kneeling down in front of Burt, asked.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t hear anything. Might be broken.”

“I’m not so sure it’s the equipment, John.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t get a pulse on this one either.”

Instinctively, the two men stood up switching patients. Ben watched bewildered as the other medic repeated the test. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze- release and hiss. Nothing. 

“No blood pressure.”

“No pulse.” 

A thermometer was shoved in his mouth. Burt too. 

Ben tried to open his mouth and ask for clarification but the medic shut his jaw. Frank won’t look at either of them. 

The thermometer beeped. Then the other. 

“Seventy.” Jeff said, brow raised in unmasked surprise.

“Mine too.” 

The medics stared down at their devices trying to make sense of them. 

“This can’t be right.” John decided, placing the thermometer back in his patient’s mouth. 

Another gruelling minute passed.

Beep 

“Seventy, again.”

“Seventy degrees? But that’s room temperature.”

Ernie said looking at his thermostat for confirmation. Sure enough, it read seventy. 


	8. 9-1-Brains?

  
Beverly poked her head down the staircase again finally able to gain a good view. Bill was on the floor in a puddle of dark liquid. Her eyes finally adjusted to find that her friend that was face down in his own blood and also had a chunk of skull missing from his head. Her eyes wandered further to find said chunk between the teeth of a gooey ghoul with large yellow eyes. Bill’s body was still twitching, involuntarily, like when a lizards severed tail continues to squirm.

“Oh, fuck.” 

Bev’s voice came out in a whisper but Mike and Stan still turned to see the scene. They stood there, like she did, dumbfounded. Shocked. Paralysed with fear. 

“More brains!”

It said as it’s eyes locked with hers. He began to move forward. Mike’s hand fumbled for something, anything, to throw at it. He landed on a can of paint on the shelf beside him. He threw it with all his might. The thing’s shoulder sloughed off on impact, stopping it for a second. 

“Need live brains.” 

A pair of lanky arms wrapped around Bev, pulling her away from the doorway. Then Stan. Mike got the message following suit on his own before closing the door. 

“Fuck, Bill’s in there!”

The redhead thrashed in Richie’s arms trying to get free. He had no doubt if he complied she’d reopen that door and go to Bill. Or rather his corpse and that  thing.

“He’s dead, Bev. Gone.”

She managed to flip herself, hands clenched onto Richie’s jacket. She buried her head in his chest, sobs racking her chest. 

“What the  fuck  was that thing?”

Mike asked, wasting no time in pushing some of the crates used for shipping cadavers against the basement door. 

“It looked like a man made out of like, like tar.” 

Stan said from the floor. He’d collapsed at some point between being pulled away from the door and then.

“Tarman.”

Mike whispered. 

“We have to get the fuck out of here. We have to get out now. Like right now.” 

Eddie spoke up. He was still perched on the window’s ledge. 

“The police station is across town.”

Richie argued, although he didn’t have a better plan. 

“Phone.” Eddie thought aloud before trying to form a sentence, “this dump has to have a phone!”

He flew from the ledge into the middle of the room, head whipping around for anything resembling a telephone. His path of vision crossed a small nook of an office. The light that flowed from underneath the door was like a small gift from god. 

“There, it’s gotta be in there!”

The rest of the Losers followed his glance before they all took off in that direction. 

The phone felt slick in Eddie’s hands. He licked his lips taking a look at all his friends that huddled around him waiting. The heavy feeling of fear settled over the room. 

**9-1-**

He was almost through punching in the numbers in when a cacophony of screams slipped through the crack of the office’s window. They were faint but as Eddie hung over the desk, ear to the phone, he could feel a tingle creep it’s fingers down his spine.

“Anyone else hear that?” Stan mumbled. 

He and Mike were essentially one person with Mike’s arms clung to the other boy protectively.

“Sounded like screaming.” 

“Who would be screaming?”

“Is someone hurt?” Bev inquired in a small voice earning an eye-roll from Richie. He was happy she was leaning on his chest so that she couldn’t see his reaction. Last time she suspected someone was hurt it ended up costing Bill his life. 

“Or it could be more of those things.”

Eddie suggested as if he and Richie shared a brain. 

Richie looked to his friend feeling an eruption of heat in his stomach. Even with wide fearful eyes and the hint of sweat on his brow he was gorgeous practically spread out on the small metal desk. Richie scolded himself letting his eyes settle on the window instead. They’d be safe from pain resting on the fogged glass. 

As if on some sort of sick humoured cue, the screams became louder and more wild. His ears finally registered that they weren’t just random moans but in fact one word. 

_**Brains** _

He called out to Eddie at the exact moment a fist collided with the glass pane. 

...

The paramedics did some more tests to be sure. Neither Burt or Ben had any pupillary response, reflex of the knees, and both their tongues seemed to be an unnatural mustard yellow. 

“We’re going to have to call this in.”

“What’s wrong with us?” Ben managed between the chattering of his teeth. 

“You’ve failed all our tests,” Jeff began as he rose to his feet placing his hands on his hips, “your blood pressure is zero over zero, your temp is seventy degrees, no pulse, no reflexes,” he let out a sigh with the shake of his head, “for all intents and purposes you’re technically not alive.”

There was a long silence as the news dropped into the room.

“Except your conscious. So we don’t really know what it means. We need to get you to the hospital.”

“You’re saying we’re  _dead_?”

The words are cried from Burt’s blue lips. 

“Well let’s not get carried away.” John reassured as he packed up his medical bag. 

“Obviously, we didn’t mean you were  really dead,”  Jeff backtracked, “Dead people don’t move around and talk.”

“We’re going to get some stretchers from the ambulance and radio the hospital. We won’t be a second.” 

Jeff said firmly as he and John headed out the door. 

The wind ripped through the paramedics as they hurried to their vehicle. Dimly through the weather they could hear screaming and moans far off in the distance.

“What the hell? You hear that, John?”

“Christ, what is that?”

“Sounds like people screaming.”

John paused for a moment trying to listen. There were definitely screams coming closer. He looked to his partner. 

“You radio the ComBox. I’ll get the stretchers than we’ll check it out. Make sure to tell them it’s an unknown chemical exposure and possible mass casualty.”

Jeff nodded, quickening his pace to the ambulance. 

John could feel his stomach knot as he thrust open the back doors of the ambulance. In the ten years he’d worked EMS he’d never seen anything like the guys inside. Something felt wrong. Very wrong.   
Jeff climbed into the cab shaking off the rain before sticking the key in the ignition to start the vehicle. Instinctively, he switched on the headlights to reveal a herd of decaying corpses staring back at him. They were all dressed formally but sullied with mud and filth. He tried to let out a scream but nothing but a small whine could escape as his door swung open. Cold rotting hands pulled him from his seat into the mud. The thing had it’s teeth buried into Jeff’s skull in a matter of seconds. One single scream escaped his lips. His entire body jerked like a sledgehammer horse.

John was sure the last scream he heard was closer than the rest. It was hard to tell with the rain but still he dropped the stretcher in his hand opting to investigate.

“Jeff, you alright?”

He made his way to the cab careful not to slip in the slick mud. He almost did slip but managed to catch himself. As his glance returned to the path ahead he felt his body collide with something solid and putrid in its smell. Again, he found his footing taking in the thing before him. It was a man, or rather it resembled one.

In the dark of the rain it was hard to make out but whatever it was looked sick. It limped forward, mouth slack. John backed away only to have his back hit into something. It held him tightly as he struggled to get loose from its icy grip. A sharp pain radiated from his head and before he could understand what had happened he was gone. The last thing he heard was a chilling demand. 

_**Fresh Brains** _


	9. Send More Paramedics

  
Eddie wanted to be at home.

Well actually, he wanted to be in Richies home, eating leftover fancy pasta from one of Richie’s parent’s fancy excursions their son was never invited on. One time they’d left what seemed to be an entire serving of lobster ravioli, which Eddie had never had hot but was delicious cold. They would be watching reruns of Mork and Mindy while Rich did bad impressions of one of his idols.

“Nanu nanu, Eds.” 

Richie would smile, fingers splayed out in the people of Ork’s salute before picking up his coke and chugging it like it was going out of style. 

Eddie would pretend not to notice how Richie’s gangly limbs would sprawl over his lap as night settled over the house. Too ecstatic to be concerned with his mother’s cold words as his heart skipped a beat. 

Eddie wanted to be somewhere else. 

He didn’t want to be in the grasp of some inhumanly strong dead thing’s arms as it tried to yank him out of the window.   
His friends screamed hysterically while he tried to escape the creatures choke hold, legs flailing as he tried to plant them back on the ground. In his hand, he still held the telephone’s receiver. It waved around his eyes in a movement he couldn’t discern was his own or just a result of the monster pushing him around like a rag doll. 

The thing’s grip was tight, chomping teeth pressed against the window’s gridded bars, only inches from Eddie. He could feel tears spilling over onto his cheeks.   
He began to gag. The creature’s hold too much for his windpipe. Richie was tugging on him too. Trying to keep him in the room. He stopped just as Eddie’s vision began to blur. Through his clouded vision he could see his friend return. He clutched the base of the phone in his hands, screaming as he beat the thing’s hands away, hitting Eddie in the process. If he survived this, he made a mental note to bitch at Richie for that.

Mike sprung into action as well, pulling at Eddie’s legs with all his might. 

“Motherfucker, let go!”

With one more powerful hit Eddie fell to the ground in a heap. Mike dragged him along the floor. The creature wasted no time trying to climb through the gaping glass. It’s skin tearing as it did so. Still it cried and moaned. 

“Brains, brains, brains!”

Eddie didn’t have time to recover. Mike scooped him up as if he were the bride to his groom and followed the others who already ran from the room. Richie was behind him, trying desperately to hold on to some part of him. To reassure himself that his friend was really there. Really ok. 

“Out the back.” 

Stan called as he turned a corner. 

The rain outside had slowed, causing mist to ascend from the dirt. Stan stopped short at the concretes edge. Beverly and the line of losers fell into him. They all miraculously kept their footing looking ahead at what had caused the slight man to halt. 

A crowd of the dead was no more than fifty feat away. It looked to be a hundred or so, making their way over. Some still clawing at the dirt of their graves to escape. 

...

The paramedics had not returned. Ernie looked out the window, anxiously. Frank was sitting next to Burt, leaving a good distance in case whatever it was that had the two sick was contagious, hands pressed together covering the thin line of his lips.

“It’s been a while.”

Ernie spoke. His words coated in concern. He took another look out the window. 

Nothing. 

A loud bang reverberated from the other side of the room, like it’d come from the hall. Frank looked to Ernie, eyes wide. The banging continued along with muffled voices.

“What in the hell?”

Frank jumped up, tearing down the Victorian styled hall and into the foyer. Ernie ran up behind him. 

“The paramedics?”

Ernie could make out several calls for help. The window’s the ran along the side of the door revealed a gang of kids, no more than Ben’s age.

...

45 Grave’s **It’s Party Time** that played from the Loser’s abandoned boom box could barely be heard over the moaning of the dead. It’d been a long journey breaking through the oak tops of their satin caskets and sifting through the soil before reaching the surface of the cemetery. There were two things the monsters knew- it was immensely painful to be dead. To feel your entire body rot away. And there was only one thing that could make it stop. Brains. The fresh pulsing brains of the living.

They followed each other in a massive herd. They obeyed their instincts to the scent and sound of the paramedics. Their brains only enough for a few lucky creatures to be satiated for a few blissful moments.

One particular creature had been at the right place at the right time. The cab of the ambulance. 

“Rescue thirteen. Rescue thirteen. Come in, this is dispatch. Over.”

The radio called to it. The creature’s eyes lit up at the opportunity. In a wavering voice it replied. 

“Come in, dispatch. Send more paramedics.”

It clicked the receiver off, joining the others in wait for the delivery of their next meal. 


	10. Fear’s The Sure Fire Way To A Man’s Heart

Richie wasn’t sure how they’d made it to the funeral parlour unscathed, but there they were pounding on the huge wooden double doors. He and Bev were doing the brunt of the work as Mike was still holding Eddie and Stan had crumpled on the wall beside them. Those things were still coming albeit slowly. He guessed rotting limbs made for a difficult trek. 

The losers had tried to just barge in as it’d been an easy task at Uneeda Medical supply. Whoever the funeral director was must’ve had more sense. 

They’d decided in a hurry to go to the funeral home because it was close and the lights were still on. Someone had to be there. And even though Eddie had protested, 

“That’s too fucking morbid. I’m done with fucking dead things”

Mike had the final call being that Eddie was still in his arms like a helpless infant. 

Richie thrusted his fists again the door ignoring the pain that had begun to radiate up his arms. 

“Is anyone in there? Please. Fuck. Please we need help!”

He could hear the rustling of leaves creeping ever closer. 

“They’re trying to fucking kill us.”

Bev hit the door once more, mostly out of frustration. She turned to Richie.

“Fuck it. Smash the window. We can crawl in.”

He was considering it when the door finally gave. On the other side he was met with a pistol between his eyes.

“Freeze or your dead!”

The threat came from the man holding the gun. He was an older gentleman with whisps of white hair reaching just below his ears and a distinct bald spot revealing his pale scalp. Instinctively, Richie took a step back guiding Beverly with him.

“Don’t shoot,” he raised his hand in protest, “we’re not the brain eaters here.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. Behind him stood another man, maybe in his fifties. His fists were raised slightly as if ready to fight. 

“Are you crazy? What are you on drugs?”

Just as the words left his withering lips the cries of the undead became audible. They were only a few feet away. Finally, close enough to the light that Ernie could see them with his own widened eyes.

“Please, mister,” Bev spoke sweetly enough to coat the desperation in her voice, “they’re coming. You have to let us in the door.”

Ernie looked out into the herd of creatures slowly bumbling to them and then to Frank. They shared a silent agreement before Ernie lowered his weapon and took a step back. 

The Losers rushed into the foyer. Stan slammed the door behind them.

“We’ve got to board all the windows. And doors. And call the cops. They’re out there!”

He demanded. 

“Who’s out there?” Frank asked. 

Bev waisted no consideration to common courtesy, grabbing Ernie by the arm.

“Don’t you hear that?” She asked. 

“What?”

Frank was about to open his mouth again but was cut off by Richie.

“Just shut up. Fucking _listen_!”

The man narrowed his eyes but obeyed. There was a definite screaming. It sounded like a group of hysterical people. Like no the things he’d gotten a glance of before the kids pushed their way inside.

“What is it?”

“The dead. They’re screaming for us.”

“For our brains,” Eddie chirped finally able to stand on his own two feet, “and yours too.”

“They came out of the ground,” Richie continued, arms flailing around him, “out of their fucking graves!”

“Out of the ground, you say?” 

Ernie reiterated, perplexed. But as soon as Frank had heard the screams he was sure it was true. The screeches sounded exactly like the ones that came out of his undead cadaver. The gas had something to do with this mess. And so did he. 

“Ok, settle down,” he spoke firmly. Ignoring the urge to smack some manners into the four eyed kid who rolled his eyes, “let’s get them into the embalming room. You got blankets Ern? We’ll get you kids dried off and see if Ben and Burt know anything about it.”

“Ben?”

Beverly cried hopefully. 

“Hanscom?”

Frank nodded, motioning everyone to follow him through the halls. 

The embalming room was grey and tiled, a complete contrast to the warm yet formal feeling of the rest of the funeral home. As the Loser’s entered, Eddie began to feel an extreme bout of nausea wash over him. His hand found Richie’s in an attempt to settle his nerves. Richie’s hand was warm and squeezes his in a way that’s both firm and gentle. 

“Ben!”

Beverly rushed over to Ben’s side. She took note of his sickly pallor and shaking form.

“Ben, what happened? Are you ok.”

She touched his arms only for him to whimper in pain. He and the man crunched next to him looked simply awful.

“Hey, Bevvy.”

He managed, jaw clenched. 

Stan and Mike are by his side too. They looked at him unsure then look to Bev. She was trembling, hands hovering over his cheeks afraid if she touched him he’d cry again. 

“What’s wrong, baby?”

Richie’s ears perk up at the pet name. At any other moment, he would’ve loved to hear that. To be able to gloat that he was right. Ben and Beverly were a couple. But now it just made his heart ache. He looked to Eddie who seemed to be in a trance, focusing on the other couple. His light brown eyes had darkened with the mist of tears glazing over them. Richie gave his friends hand another squeeze causing Eddie to snap back to reality. He looked down at their intertwined hands and then into Richie’s eyes. 

“He needs more blankets! He’s freezing.” Bev cried.

“They’re in the hall closet, last door on the right,” Ernie informed before taking Frank in the other direction to talk privately. 

“I got it, Bev, no worries.”

Richie volunteered, unclamping himself from Eddie. He headed down the hall to find he had company. Eddie trailed behind him, quietly. He looked to the smaller boy, stopping in his tracks. 

“Trying to scare me, Eds? I think I’ve had enough for one night.”

“Bills dead.” He whispered to the hardwood floor. 

Richie’s smile dropped. 

“I know.”

“Ben’s gonna die too.”

Richie felt his brow furrow. He’d been so occupied with his overwhelming love for Eddie the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. 

“We could die too. All of us.”

“Eds.”

He took a stepped closer to Eddie, his breath quickening as he did so. 

“Richie, I don’t know if you know this,” Eddie found himself

confessing, “but I’m gay. I’m so gay for you, specifically. And I,” he couldn’t stop himself from shaking. His lips trembled as he broke into a small sob, “god,” Richie’s eyes remained on him, trying to telepathically will the words out of him, “god, Richie. Could you. Could you hold me.”

Richie knew that this should’ve been the worst day of his life. Hell, it was probably the last day of his life. But he couldn’t help the enormous smile that spread across his cheeks as he pulled Eddie into a hug. His arms trying to hold onto everything that was  _Eddie_ . His petite torso, trembling arms, and the smell of fresh laundry. Lavender and hibiscus.The warm feeling that spread through his body as the smaller boy pushed his face into Richie’s neck was amazing. Better than anything he’d experienced on his short time on earth. And when a small sweet moan escaped Eddie’s lips with warm breath against the skin of his neck Richie was sure he’d be ok to die right then and there. 


	11. Just Took the End of the World

They could’ve stayed like that forever, Eddie mused as he felt Richie’s fingers trail through his hair. It felt good. He felt good. 

His lips hovered hesitantly over Richie’s neck, so close to his freckled skin. He thought about closing the gap. Actually pressing his lips to the other boy and leaving chaste kisses up and down his sharp jawline. He stopped himself, guilt swelling inside of him. 

Bill was dead. He died right in front of them at the decaying hands of some unearthly creature and all he was concerned with was Richie. A sob erupted from Eddie’s lips as he pushed his face into Richie’s chest. He couldn’t help the pathetic noises that followed while struggling to keep the sadness inside his chest. A task he was failing at miserably. 

“Hey, hey,”Richie hushed, taking his hand away from Eddie’s hair. He used it to lift the smaller boy’s chin, tipping it in order for their eyes to meet, “you still scared?”

It was sort of a dumb question and Eddie couldn’t figure out if he meant scared of the whole gay thing or their impending doom. He took his own hand away from Richie’s side to angrily push the tears that threatened to seep from his eyes.

“It’s ok, ya know, to be scared. I’m scared too.”

“Of those things?”

Eddie asked in a smaller voice than he would’ve hoped for. Richie nodded.

“About being gay?” The words rushed from his mouth, eyes suddenly becoming much more acquainted with their shoes. 

“Sure, every now and then. Like when my Dad found my dirty magazines.” 

Richie confessed. He’d never told anyone. The conversation being short and filled with humiliation. It had ended with Richie’s glasses laying on the floor, broken in half, eye swollen shut and purple. He remembered the next day when Eddie practically threw a clot over his injury. 

_“Shit, you’re fucking eye looks terrible. Are you ok?”_

_Richie had brushed the question_ o _ff, mumbling something about running into a door. His heart beating a mile a minute when Eddie gently touched the bruise._

_“No fucking way. You look like shit. Did you even ice it? I’ve got an entire medical kit at my house. Call me next time, asshole.”_

_“You got it, Eddie Kaspbrak MD.”_

The memory brought a smirk to his lips.

“You too? My mom, she went,” Eddie let out a shaky breath, “she went all religious on me. I thought she was going to send me to one of those conversion therapy camps. There were brochures on the coffee table the next morning.”

“Christ, Ol’Wentworth just tried to beat the gay out of me.” 

Richie let out a dry chuckle, naturally wiping a stray tear from Eddie’s cheek. His hand stayed in place as he debated throwing it all to hell and kissing the boy.

Eddie swallowed thickly, “How are you so brave, Rich? You saved me from that Tar thing. You pushed Bev out of the way of a gun. You didn’t cower when your Dad was a dick about your sexuality. How? How do you do it? I’m such a fucking coward in a comparison.”

Richie’s heart fell deep into his stomach. Is that really the way Eddie saw it? He let his eyes settle on his friend. The kid who over came his mothers constant fear mongering and emotional abuse. The kid who despite his instinctual germaphobic tendencies never shied away from a bloody friend in need. The kid who just confessed his attraction for a dumb Trashmouth despite the fact if his mother got wind he’d be thrown away, sent to a horrific conversion camp. That kid thought he was a coward? Richie shook his head. 

“No, Eds, you’re brave. Braver than you think.”

For the first time since all hell had broken loose, Eddie’s eyes lit up. He gave Richie a hesitant smile.

“Thanks, Rich.”

Richie’s hand was still cupping Eddie’s cheek. He felt his face flush as the smaller boy seemed to lean in to the touch. An itch seemed to spread over him as his body finally gave into the moment propelling him forward. He stopped, an inch from Eddie’s lips. 

“Is this,” his eyes flicked from Eddie’s to his pink lips, “Is this ok?”

Eddie smiled, delicately pushing Richie’s glasses up on the bridge of his nose before closing the gap between them. Eddie’s lips linking with Richie’s in an almost awkward manner before the taller boy took control. His lips were softer than Eddie would’ve guessed and the taste of nicotine tingled on his tongue. It was good, even great for a first kiss. His hands found their way to silky dark curls, tugging on them gently. Richie let out a small almost inaudible moan igniting a fire in Eddie’s stomach. 

“So it just took the end of the world, huh?”

Mike’s voice broke the moment, the two snapping back from each other arms back to either side of their own bodies. 

“Did you guys forget? Ben needs blankets.”

Richie cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. He was still a little high on the kiss. 

“Ya know, I was looking but then I got lost in Eddie’s eyes.”

Ok, that apparently was not the right thing to say. No sooner did the words leave his mouth than he felt Eddie’s hand smack the back of his head. He turned to the boy who sported an all too familiar look of annoyance. He took note that Eddie had been on the tips of his toes in order to smack Richie, a detail that was undeniably adorable. 

_Cute. Cute. Cute_. 

“So,” Mike brought him back to earth, “the mother fucking blankets?”

“ _Mother-fucking_ blankets? Uh oh Eds, looks like I’ve got some competition for your Mom.”

Eddie sighed, a tower of blankets rested in his arms.

“This is literally a prime example of ‘no joking matter’ for fucks sake, Rich.”

Richie followed quietly behind his.. friend? Boyfriend? Whatever he was Eddie had clearly taken the lead, pushing past Stan and Bev to throw blankets on Ben and the strange middle aged man he shared an ailment with. He was wary of touching the two with their unknown illness, but tried to push past it. Richie’s words echoed in his head.

_Your braver than you think_

“What happened, Ben?”

Eddie inquired as he tucked the other man in up to his neck.

“I’m in,” Ben paused, each word was a struggle, “I’m in so much pain. I’m freezing. My muscles are stiff. And I got no heartbeat.”

Bev cooed, trying to figure out a way to comfort him but also not touch him. She settled for brushing her fingers through his hair. 

“No heartbeat? Seriously?”

“Yeah, Eddie. That’s what the paramedics said before they left to get stretchers.”

Bev let out a cry as she burst into tears, “Paramedics?”

“Yeah, but that was ages ago.”

Burt chimed in. He sat there with pained breath and wide darting eyes.

“Well, where the hell are they?”

Stan asked.

“That’s what we want to know.”

Ernie said as he and Frank returned, faces hardened. 

“My legs and arms,” Ben wined, “they’re cramping. My stomach feels like it’s tied in one big knot.”

Ernie looked at the boy. His fists were clenched, body almost bent in half but he seemed stiff as a board. He looked to Burt who was in a similar shape.

“Can I see something.” He said licking his lips anxiously. He went to Ben, carefully trying to pry Ben’s arm away from his chest. The boy howled in protest causing Bev to throw her hands over her ears. She stifled a sob with eyes squeezed shut. Richie ran to her side, pulling her into a hug. She crumbled against him. Instinctively , he began to whisper in her ear, assuring her it was ok. Eddie looked over, a pang of jealousy resonated through his chest. 

Ernie looked to Frank before he spoke.

“It would appear, Rigor Mortis is setting in.”

The room fell silent, save for Beverly’s muffled cries. 

Ernie knelt beside Ben. 

“Kid,” he gestured to Eddie, “help me get his shirt up.”

They leaned Ben forward while he wailed in pain. Eddie hiked his shirt up, exposing his bare back. It was just as pale as his face but there were large splotches of maroon towards his sacrum. Ernie pointed to them. 

“See these bruises. It’s from where he’s been lying down. That’s the blood pooling up.”

He nodded at Eddie who gently put Ben’s shirt back down. They returned him to his position, leaning on his back.

“You mean,” Eddie trailed off, not wanting to say it. 

Ernie stood back up, placing his fingers to his chin in thought. He studied Ben, fascinated. 

“Yes, it would seem.”

“They’re dead?”

“But how?” Stan inquired, “Their walking and talking.”

“So were those things.” Mike reminds in a whisper, eyes trained on Ben.

Everyone took a step back. Eddie rushed to the sink to wash his hands, the idea of touching a dead man too overwhelming to resist the urge. Richie had to practically drag Bev back. 

“That chemical, Frank.”

Burt suggested in a hoarse tone. 

“What chemical?”

“Trioxin 254. It was developed by the army,” Frank began, “It was in that canister along with an alleged reanimated corpse.”

“Like those things outside?” 

Frank nodded to Stan’s question. 

“So that chemical must’ve gotten into the graveyard and reanimated those dead people. And Ben and Burt inhaled it,” Stan turned to the two as the pieces of the puzzle began to click, “so they’re turning into those things.”

The sound of a siren pulled everyone’s attention. It grew closer as they all stilled. 

“What’s that?”

Ernie flew to the window, pulling back the blinds. 

“It’s another ambulance!”

Every able bodied person in the room ran to the window, crowding around. The vehicle stopped as two paramedics climbed out. They go to investigate the original ambulance that had been abandoned. In a matter of seconds, a hoard of corpses lurched from the darkness enveloping them. Their terrified screams rang out into the open air. 


	12. Headfirst Slide into the Mortuary

WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHHHHH

  
“They’re gonna kill anyone who comes here.”

Frank announced, pulling at his chin as he turned away from the window. The place had become a black hole, swallowing up anyone who ventured close and they were stuck in the vortex.

Ernie pulled steel shutters down from the top of the window, not wanting to take any chances. He went around the entire room doing the same for every opening. 

“We need to call the cops.”

“Cops? What the hell are they gonna do? Those things will eat them.”

Richie shouted. He looked out into the group of terrified eyes before him.   
Beverly was latched back to Ben, placing light kisses on his sweaty forehead. His skin’s hue was blue at this point with the labor of breathing almost being too much. Stan and Mike were huddled by the back door where the medics had come through, silent. Eddie and Frank were still by the window, despite it being blocked of any sort of view.

“We need to call the Army.”

He decided. 

“Hell no. We don’t need the Army sniffing around this.” 

Frank boomed, stepping closer to the fucking kid he already wasn’t very fond of. 

“Why?” Richie pushed, not stepping back from his place, “what are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Frank took a moment, obviously thinking of how to remain inconspicuous, “I just don’t see what the Army could do that the police couldn’t do faster.”

Eddie stood back observing the argument very aware of the hostility between Richie and Frank. He let out a heavy sigh, irritated by the two. The age gap between them was vast, but their personalities were the same. Both needing their egos messaged. Both needing to take the lead. 

“Well, you said yourself the chemical was developed by the Army.” Stan pointed out. 

“Maybe they have a solution or like a cure.” Mike finished the thought. 

Ernie looked to Frank. He understood the instinct to cover his own ass, but things had spiralled very quickly. People were dead. 

“Frank, things have gotten out of hand.” 

As if on cue, the sound of shattering glass called from outside the embalming room. 

“The stain glass in the chapel.” 

Ernie informed, reaching for the pistol on his hip and running out of the room. Mike, Stan and Frank followed after they each grabbed the nearest blunt object available. Richie looked to Eddie, who had ventured closer after the loud sound. 

“You stay here Eds.”

Eddie pulled on Richie’s arm. 

“You’re not going anywhere either, dickface.”

Richie couldn’t restrain the smile that crept onto his cheeks. 

“You’re cute when you try to be tough. Keep an eye on the patients, Doctor K. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He pressed his lips to Eddie’s crumpled brow before heading out to the others. 

...

Richie turned into the chapel to the sound of hysterical screaming and nails being driven into wood. Several decaying arms stuck through holes in the cracked glass of the chapel windows. The group had broken off into pairs. Stan and Ernie were nailing boards against the windows. Frank and Mike were beating the hands back.

“Oh, look who decided to help,” Frank yelled over the screaming, “grab some more boards, will ya kid?”

Richie complied, wilfully ignoring the older mans taunt. It was hard work breaking apart the wooden seats of the chapel and Richie didn’t even know how he was strong enough to manage it. The hammer helped. So did the insane amount of adrenaline that was coursing through his thin frame. 

He’d just finished breaking down the third pew when a horrendous scream echoed in Mike’s voice. 

There was so much blood. More blood than Richie thought one person had. It spewed from Stan’s skull. The piece of his head that had previously kept the crimson liquid inside was gone. In the digestive tract of a corpse whose hand was still clasped to Stan’s arm. As Frank and Mike pulled him back in the room they dragged the thing in too. 

It was only half a creature, formerly a woman that was missing everything from the waist down. Richie would’ve guessed an older female because of the grey hair that sprang from her greenish skin. Some of the hair turned a strawberry colour as it writhed on top of Stan’s bloodied corpse. Mike threw the thing off of him.It flew across the room, calling for brains as it knocked into a pew. 

Mike collapsed on top of Stan’s unmoving body. His own body racked with sobs. A deep contrast to the stillness of his lover. As if Stan was a piece of furniture. A sofa outfitted in a trench coat and Doc Martins. 

“Stan, baby, wake up.”

Mike pleaded. His voice higher than Richie had ever heard it. As if he were a small child. 

He placed a shaking hand to the wound on Stan’s skull. Richie felt sick thinking about how his brain must’ve felt. To feel your lovers brain against your palm. He leaned over to retch.

“Four eyes,” Frank called as Richie spit out the last bit of bile from his mouth, “we gotta a man down. We need you on nails.”

The most upsetting part of the whole event was Richie only had to nail in five more nails. Five more nails and Stan would’ve been done. Alive and holding onto Mike. 

Richie looked to Mike who was still holding onto Stan. Talking to him as if he were asleep. Ernie and Frank had gone off to barricade the front windows.

The thing was still flailing around the other side of the room. Crying for more brains. Every time it did Mike let out a sob. 

“Hey, Mikey,” Richie started, cautiously. He placed a hand on Mike’s shaking shoulder, “Mikey, we gotta go. He’s gone. We gotta go.”

Mike stayed silent. 

“Mike, it’s what Stan would’ve wanted.” 

Finally, Mike looked up with tear filled eyes.

“Would you leave Eddie?” 

The question stopped Richie in his tracks. Of course he wouldn’t. He would never.

He decided it best just to push forward. 

“I need you, Mike. So does Eddie. So does Bev and Ben.”

“Hey, kids! We need to get back to the embalming room.”

Frank called as Ernie trudged toward the half corpse, large steel pole in his hands. 

Frank looked to the older man.

“Ernie, what are you doing we need to go!”

“Hold on,” he said, tongue sticking out in concentration. Carefully, jabbed the thing between its exposed rib cage. It became silent, seemingly relaxed by the pressure on its twitching spinal cord, “I want to examine it.”

...

Eddie sat by Beverly and what he feared was a reanimated version of his friend, Ben. He had just chewed his last fingernail down to the nub when Richie and company burst through the door.

He and Mike were covered in blood and upon seeing that Stan was not there fear over took Eddie. Richie was keeping Mike up, propped on his shoulder. The stronger of the two a mess of tears. 

“Stan?”

Richie looked up with sorrowful eyes as he shook his head. 

Eddie blinked away tears. He had little time to dwell on the sadness as his attention was grasped by Ernie who trotted in with half a corpse attached to a pole. He slid it across the floor, leaving a trail of blood like some sick type of swiffer wet jet.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Ernie wants to play mad scientist and examine this zombie.” 

Richie explained, completely defeated. He placed Mike on the sofa in between Ben and Burt, fairly certain he would fall to the floor left to stand in his own. 

Twenty minutes ago he would’ve laughed if anyone told him he would kiss Eddie Kaspbrak in front of a group of people. This was a small mom and pop funeral home in Derry fucking Maine. Gay outbursts were not common place. But there he was, pressing himself against Eddie, lips moving in sync, fully aware this may be the last time he would have the pleasure. Eddie barely had time to react before Richie pulled away. 

“I fucking love you.”

“Rich,” Eddie spoke breathlessly, “do you mean that?”

Richie could feel everyone’s eyes on them now making his sweaty palms even moister. But fuck he did mean it. 

“Yeah, I really do. It’s ok if-“

He was cut off by Eddie’s hungry lips. The smaller boy pulling Richie into his lap, nearly knocking into Bev and Ben. 

“I fucking love you too, asshole.”


End file.
